The Mourning Harp
by Aelfaer
Summary: The CSI team are visiting London for a conference, but soon find themselves drawn into investigating a prolific serial killer. [GS] WIP.
1. To London

**Pairing**: G/S

**Rating**: R. Not for the romance, but because I'll be doing nasty things to dead people later on.  
  
**Summary** : The CSI team are visiting London for a conference, but soon find themselves drawn into investigating a prolific serial killer.  
  
**Spoilers** : Not that I know of.  
  
**Disclaimer** : I don't own CSI, or any of the characters within it. None of the other characters are based on real life people. In other words: Sir John Stevens, the Commissioner in this story isn't you, please don't sue me.  
  
**Thanks** : The creators of CSI, the scientific websites I became unaccountably obsessed with, and a big nod to Agatha Christie (for reasons which will become clear later on)  
  
**Note** : This is my first crime story, my first fanfic and my first ship. I'd really appreciate constructive feedback on this! I've set this in London simply because I live there, that should also account for Anglicised spellings. Also, I defy anyone to guess where the quote in the title is from! (All will be revealed...)

* * *

**The Mourning Harp**

The CSIs filed into the room wondering why Grissom had called an urgent meeting of them all. They found him already seated there, and took their seats. It had been a successful week, with two complicated cases solved by their skills, and they were secretly hoping that a little "CSI celebration" would be in order. Grissom went one better than that.  
  
"Hey guys. Congratulations to you all on solving our last two cases, you put in some good work there. Now I have some good news for you," he smiled 'round the group, "I just had a call from England. In a week's time they're hosting a forensic science conference in London and they've invited the team to speak on our use of forensics in the USA. Apparently the London Metropolitan Police is very keen to adopt American practices and reduce their crime rate. So, you get a free trip abroad, courtesy of Her Majesty's Government, and the chance to see how our opposite numbers do their jobs. What do you think?"  
  
"Hey man, if someone else will pay for it, I'll go anywhere you want. I'm up for it." Nick was the first to reply. Warrick and Sara also made enthusiastic noises, thinking that a break from Las Vegas would be an ideal refresher after the last week. Only Catherine seemed hesitant.  
  
"I don't know...I'll have to find somewhere for Lindsey to stay. How long will we be gone for?"  
  
"I'd say about a week, maybe two. Maybe Greg could look after her? The invite is only for us five. None of you has to make a decision right away, let me know in the next day or so whether you want to go. Now, we need to clear that case of the suspicious drowning so let's get going."  
  
They all left the room with a buzz of excitement.  
  
It was all settled; Grissom, Sara, Nick, Warrick and Catherine were all going to London for the conference. Greg was disappointed he couldn't go, but cheered up when Grissom said he could go next time, and agreed to look after Lindsey, promising not to let her eat too much junk food.  
  
It was July, so they all packed light clothing, raincoats and 'work' clothes, hoping for some sightseeing time. They met at the airport, checked in, and waited for their flight to arrive. They had all been given seats near each other on the plane, though the lady at the check-in desk said that two were together and three in the middle of the plane, further back. Shuffling through the tickets, Nick and Warrick took two seats together, and with an evil grin, Catherine took the last one, leaving Grissom and Sara sitting together for the whole flight. The other CSIs had long been hoping that those two would finally get it together - maybe this little jaunt would do the trick at last. Sara though looked less than pleased with her seating companion, and cast imploring looks at the others while Grissom studied a forensic journal, oblivious.  
  
"Think of it this way, you can talk about bugs together," suggested Warrick.  
  
Sara sighed to herself. That was just the trouble, bugs - work - was all they could talk about. She'd been attracted to the man for so long, and had dared to hope he felt the same, but lately he just treated her like a forensic automaton, and avoided working with her whenever he could.  
  
They boarded the plane, and brought out their books, music and - in Grissom's case, dead insect collection - in preparation for the ten hour flight to London. At first, Sara felt uncomfortable having to sit close by Grissom for such a long time, but as he was absorbed in his insects and apparently ignoring her, she relaxed and started reading her book on the history of policing in England.  
  
Grissom stuck the last label onto his bug collection and admired his work for a while. He soon found his gaze drifting over his left shoulder to the woman who sat there. He found himself admiring her perfect face, and remembering the many times she had surprised him with her knowledge and devotion. How he wished theirs was more than a working relationship, but that could never happen - he was her boss, and too old for her besides. Not that that stopped the longing, but he hoped he would be able to suppress that in time. A smile played over his face as he saw the title of the book she was reading - she was as dedicated as he was.  
  
Sara looked up to see him staring at her and said, "What's so funny?"  
  
"Just your book. I noticed the others had airport trash novels, but you've brought a tome on police history."  
  
"It's really interesting, as it so happens. Did you know that in England cops are called bobbies and peelers after Sir Robert Peel, the founder of their police force?"  
  
"They also call them the Old Bill. Can I borrow that once you're done?"  
  
"Sure."  
  
They sat for the rest of the journey in companionable silence, occasionally reading to each other snippets from the books they were reading. Both realised that this was the most relaxed they had been around each other for a long time, and looked forward to the conference. Eventually, just as everyone was thinking of trying to sleep, the air hostess announced that they would shortly arrive in Heathrow airport, and advised them to adjust their watches. As they stepped out of the plane, stretching their legs, they realised it was drizzling with rain.  
  
"But its July!" Nick complained, while the others just shrugged - they'd heard tales of British weather before. It was midnight in London, and they took a cab to their hotel off Oxford Street using the vouchers the Met had kindly sent. They were all so weary by the time they reached their hotel that they just took their room keys and went straight to bed without really noticing their location.  
  
The next morning was overcast, but dry and as the conference didn't start until the next day, everyone wanted to go sightseeing. The only problem was that they all wanted to go to different places. Grissom naturally wanted to visit the Natural History Museum; Catherine wanted the classic tourist trio of Parliament, Westminster Abbey and Buckingham Palace; Nick and Warrick wanted to look at Soho and Sara liked the idea of the Science Museum. So, they decided to split up. Following advice from the concierge, Catherine caught a bus to Whitehall from Oxford Street, while the others walked to Piccadilly Circus. From there, Grissom and Sara caught a number 14 bus as their museums were side by side, and Warrick and Nick walked off to visit Leicester Square and Soho.  
  
Everyone enjoyed themselves. Catherine saw pageantry and history; Sara enjoyed the gruesome implements charting medical history; Grissom liked the bugs he found, while Nick and Warrick found Soho considerably less sleazy than they had imagined and met two pretty expats who were delighted to hear a familiar accent. Everyone just about managed to find their way back to the hotel, where everyone promptly got an early night as the conference started early the next morning.  
  
The next day they made their way to the conference centre. The hall was full of scientists of many nationalities, and as they walked in they were greeted by the Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police Service, who looked weary but delighted to see them.  
  
"We're very keen on being up-to-date and getting rid of the days of doing miracles with the proverbial two pieces of string and a coathanger. We're thinking of implementing some of the ideas Mayor Giuliani used in New York, and we're delighted to be able to share in your expertise. I'm sure many of the delegates here will want to talk to you so I won't monopolise your time, but expect to see me around." A police officer in uniform approached the Commissioner then, and whispered something to him. "If you'll excuse me, I'm afraid something rather urgent has just come up," he said, looking worried, and dashed away.  
  
The team soon mingled with the crowd, engaging in animated conversation with fellow specialists, and visiting the stalls to see if there was any new forensic equipment that the lab needed. The hall was packed, and all the CSIs found themselves enjoying the talk of crimes solved and evidence uncovered.  
  
Grissom was in the middle of a conversation about maggots when the Commissioner appeared at his side. He excused himself from the conversation and greeted the officer.  
  
"Investigator Grissom, I'm sorry I had to dash away like that, but something has happened. To be honest I need a favour. I found out that someone has been murdered and, well, this is the itenth/i similar murder since November. The media are going to start frothing at the mouth about police incompetence but to be frank, we're all out of clues to catch this killer. I know this is a big thing to ask but I think that having fresh minds and a different way of working might just crack this case. We'll pay all your expenses. Please, would you consider helping us?"  
  
"I'll have to ask my team," Grissom replied, inwardly feeling excited at the prospect of tracking a serial killer. They searched through the hall until they found all the others, and explained the request.  
  
"A prolific serial? I'll help, best we catch this guy quickly, right?" said Sara, and the others agreed. Besides which a serial killer was the most challenging and interesting of all the cases, and a chance to work somewhere different for a while would be an experience to savour.  
  
"Thank you, all of you," said the Commissioner, looking relieved, "We need to catch this man - ten murders and we're still in the dark! I only hope you catch him before he kills again."  
  
TBC  
  
_Sidenote_: those bus routes? they're all correct ones...I know, I'm pathetic.


	2. Litany of the Dead

**A/N:** As I'm sure you guessed, the last chapter was a "scene-setter". Here begins the investigation. Er...and the nasty bits with the corpses. No G/S in this chapter, I'm afraid. Just vital info.

* * *

**Chapter II: Litany of the Dead**

The Commissioner escorted the CSIs to their temporary laboratory in New Scotland Yard. He showed them into a spacious area, with a large conference room in the middle, and smaller laboratories separated off the sides by large windows. In the middle of the conference room was a big glass sheet, onto which ten photographs had been attached. The team spent a few minutes scanning the room, while the Commissioner disappeared for a minute, returning with a tall, blond man in a police uniform.  
  
"Welcome to your new quarters, ladies and gentlemen. This officer is Sergeant Robert Hitchens, and he will be your escort and main contact while you're here. This space is for your exclusive use for the duration of this case - no one will disturb you, and the labs are equipped with all that our Scene of Crime Officers usually use. If there is anything you need that isn't here, let Sergeant Hitchens know and we'll try our best to get it. I have also obtained authorisation from the Home Office for you to carry the identification our SOCOs usually use, and for you to question any witnesses, suspects or other members of the public informally as you wish. If you need to formally question anyone within the station, obtain warrants, or arrest anyone for these crimes, then Sergeant Hitchens will aid you with that. He will also serve as your contact with myself, and will update me on your progress on the case."  
  
"Are these photographs of the victims?" asked Grissom, pointing at the glass partition.  
  
"Yes, including the latest victim. She is currently with our Coroner, who is conducting the autopsy. If you would like to speak to the Coroner, she is one floor down from here, to the left of the lift entrance. The Coroner's reports on the other bodies are in these files, as is everything else we know about this case. The earlier bodies have been buried, and if it is absolutely necessary, exhumation orders can be gained for you."  
  
"I understand the media are going to be all over this," said Catherine, "is there anything we ought to know?"  
  
"The media have started a feeding frenzy over this. Once it became clear that this was a serial killer, there has been little else in the news for months, and we've been accused of incompetence over this case over and over again. They're calling the killer the 'Godly Ripper' because the bodies have all been found in the same place - Charing Cross. I'm afraid they will probably try to target you to find out more information about the case, and especially to see whether you think the Met has been incompetent or careless. I will be announcing your presence at a press conference in half an hour, but I will deal with the press statements. I'm sure you will meet journalists, however, but I assume you've probably dealt with press intrusion before. Naturally, there are particulars about this case which we do not want made known, in case our killer confesses, and also to try to preserve the dignity of the dead, at least until the killer is caught. I would advise you not to walk anywhere, otherwise you will be swarmed by the paparazzi, I'm afraid, and Sergeant Hitchens will drive you to anywhere you need to go, so hopefully you should be able to avoid them as much as possible. I have to prepare for the press conference shortly, but do you have any questions?"  
  
The team said that they didn't, and so the Commissioner left them with Hitchens.  
  
"Hi," he said, "I've been assigned to you because I worked on the first two cases, though the CID took over from there. I think everything you need to know should be in the files, but I can always get some of the other officers to come and talk to you if you need it. Call me Bob, by the way."  
  
"Hi Bob, I'm Gil Grissom," Grissom said, shaking his hand. Gesturing to the team, he continued, "this is Catherine Willows, Warrick Brown, Nick Stokes, and Sara Sidle. I'm sure we're all very keen to get going on this case, so we'll get started on the files first. Can we write on this glass board?"  
  
Bob indicated they could, so Grissom quickly scanned through the précis document, and started to write underneath each of the photographs.  
  
"Okay, this was the first victim, discovered by a passer-by at Charing Cross station on November 28th of last year. Her name was Jane Evans, and she was 45. According to the notes, she was strangled with some sort of garrotte. Cause of death, asphyxia."  
  
They all stared at the photograph of a pretty woman with shoulder-length brown hair, with a bruise round her neck indicating how she died. Looking along the row, it was immediately evident that all of the victims were pretty, white women who looked vaguely alike, and all had shoulder-length brown hair and were in the same age bracket.  
  
"There were...other things done to her besides strangling," Bob interrupted, "really horrible, they were."  
  
"Yes...the notes indicate that she was restrained for some time before she was killed. According to her friends, she had left her home in Lincoln on Thursday, and her corpse was discovered on Sunday in London. He cut off her breasts using a wide-bladed instrument - probably a kitchen knife - and also cut down her sternum, leaving a distinct 'cross' shape. He then strangled her before she could die of her wounds, and then had sex with her corpse. Several times, from the evidence. The Coroner indicates that she probably died that Friday, and her killer kept her corpse before moving it to his dumping spot. The good news is that the killer did not wear a condom; however the bad news is that his DNA does not match any on profile. He also removed her heart after she was dead."  
  
"That's disgusting," said Warrick, quietly. Everyone was disturbed by the actions of the man they were hunting, and vowed to catch him before he could kill anyone else.  
  
"The strangulation, mastectomy, cut down the sternum, removal of the heart and necrophilia appear to be the 'signature' of our killer. The only difference between this first killing and the rest are that there is evidence of hesitation marks on her chest. It seems he got good at his job quickly - he didn't hesitate again. The women were all from different places in the country, but, as I'm sure you have noticed, they look alike."  
  
"Perhaps he had a girlfriend or a wife who looked like they do, and he's getting his revenge on them?" Sara guessed, "or a religious fixation, with the crosses?"  
  
"It's a possibility, but let's keep an open mind at this point. There was very little forensic evidence recovered from the body - some traces of nitrogen-enriched soil, but nitrogen appears naturally in soil from decaying plant matter. The soil in this case had a large amount of nitrogen in it, but nitrogen fertiliser is used both in farming and home gardening. The victim had no defensive wounds, and nothing was recovered from her fingernails, indicating that she was subdued quickly, and restrained during the time the killer mutilated her."  
  
"The soil might mean she was killed on a farm or in an isolated garden," suggested Catherine, "there would be a lot of noise, and that would attract the attention of neighbours in a town."  
  
"True, but it is also possible that she picked up the soil elsewhere, perhaps in her own garden before she was abducted, it is very common," said Grissom, "but keep that idea in mind.  
  
"The other victims also bear the killer's signature on them. Remember that a serial killer is driven to leave psychological markers on the bodies of his victims, things which arouse him or satiate his desire to kill. We use the signature of a murderer to tie his cases together and to prosecute him in court. The British police must have guessed fairly early on that they had a serial killer, his signature is developed and distinctive - perhaps indicating a long-term fantasy about committing such acts, or that he has killed before. On the evidence of the hesitation marks on the first body, it might be more likely that he has fantasised about committing a crime 'just-so' for some time. Now, let's look at the other women this man has killed." Grissom pointed at each of the photographs in turn.  
  
"All the victims were much the same height - around 5'10", and range in age from 32 to 48. All of them have shoulder-length brown hair, and all were white. The second victim was Sarah Ashwell, aged 38, who was married and lived in a place called Grantham in Lincolnshire. She is survived by her husband and small child. She was killed in the same way as Jane Evans, and her body was also discovered at Charing Cross. Due to rainfall in the night, no trace evidence was recovered from her body.  
  
"The third victim was Tessa Cardy, age 40, a divorced woman with no children. She lived in a place called Stamford, again in Lincolnshire. Traces of nitrogen-enriched soil were recovered from her body.  
  
"The fourth woman was Alice Dodd, age 47, who was separated and lived with her two children in Geddington in Northamptonshire. Her body had been washed with a common brand of soap before being brought to Charing Cross - by this time I would imagine the press were talking about the cases.  
  
"Fifth came Heather Farn, a 42 year-old woman from Yorkshire, but abducted from the town of Northampton, where she had been staying with a friend. Again, the body had been washed with the same soap - in fact traces of Alice Dodd's skin were found in the soap, definitely tying these crimes together.  
  
"The sixth victim was Laura Goddard, aged 32 and the youngest of the victims. She was from Stony Stratford - which is not the Stratford of Shakespeare, but a market town in the county of Milton Keynes. Small particles of leather were found on her skin, perhaps indicating that the killer wore leather gloves while washing his victims.  
  
"Seventh is Catherine Kilpatrick, aged 39 and a single woman who was not reported missing, but identified after police made a public appeal. She was from Woburn in Bedfordshire. Again the corpse was washed before disposal occurred.  
  
"The eighth victim was a Lynda Roberts, aged 41 and a married stay-at-home mom. She lived in Dunstable and was hunted for quite extensively by the Bedfordshire police once she was reported missing, but her body was found in the same place as before. It seems that from this point on the killer discontinued his practise of washing the corpses, as traces of a copper sulphate mixture were found on her body. Copper sulphate is used to treat algae levels in fish tanks and ponds, to remove certain pests from gardens and farms, and also to treat certain conditions in animals. Perhaps the killer grew complacent, sure that the police would not catch him.  
  
"The ninth victim was Bridget Light, aged 48 and the oldest victim. She was a single mother from St Albans, Hertfordshire. Traces of both nitrogen fertiliser and copper sulphate were found on the body.  
  
"The victim from today has been identified from a missing person's report as Rachel Melton, aged 47 from Waltham Cross in Hertfordshire. She was found two hours ago at Charing Cross by a policeman."  
  
"Are there any cameras in Charing Cross which might have picked up the killer disposing of the body?" Sara asked Bob.  
  
"There are some CCTV cameras, but not where the bodies were placed. The bodies were all found under the actual cross from which Charing Cross gets its name. The CCTV cameras in the area are trained behind the cross, at the railway station which is there. Charing Cross is just slightly up the road from Trafalgar Square, and is at one end of the Strand."  
  
"A busy place then? Did anyone see anything," asked Nick.  
  
"No. The Strand has become well-known for the numbers of homeless people who congregate along there, because many of them live on the Embankment which is just behind the Strand. The cross is a popular place for some of them to sit and to beg. I'm afraid most Londoners have become so used to seeing beggars in the streets that they just ignore them, never look at them, and don't really see them. We think that the killer may be dressing as a homeless man to take advantage of this - many of them carry sleeping bags full of accumulated junk, and no one noticed the body being dumped. All the bodies were dumped in sleeping bags, so that people would assume they were simply the homeless. But the police find them because they move the homeless on when they see them in one place for a long time."  
  
"So, to recap: we have ten victims of one killer, with a well-developed 'signature' he uses. He performs a double mastectomy, and cuts open the sternum using a kitchen knife, and later removes the heart after death. He also indulges in necrophilia, leaving semen at the scene. Several bodies have been found with copper sulphate and nitrogen fertiliser traces on them, though other trace evidence is lacking. All the women were of roughly the same age, the same height, and all have shoulder-length brown hair. They come from various different places - though all within a day's drive of London, and all have been dumped in the same place. Other than physical appearance, little seems to tie the women together - they did not share the same job, income or social class bracket, nor were they members of any club or society in common. Three of the women knew one another slightly - Tessa Cardy, Heather Farn, and Bridget Light had met briefly at a party for divorced women seeking new parties. They had not become friends, and knew one another only slightly.   
  
"Warrick and Nick, I'd like you to start going through the trace reports from the previous cases and processing the trace evidence gained from the latest victim; Catherine and Sara, check up on this dating agency in case it has anything to do with the case, and I'm going to talk to the pathologist."  
  
The CSIs took their copies of the case files and headed off in various directions. Warrick and Nick divided up the cases between them and headed off to two adjoining labs to start to sift through the forensic evidence to see if the London police had missed anything. Grissom, accompanied by Bob, headed down to the morgue, while Catherine rang the 'Divorcees Unite' dating agency and Sara checked out the company on the internet. It was going to be a long night, gaining a thorough knowledge of the crimes, but necessary before they could begin investigating.  
  
TBC... 


	3. Neutiquam Erro

**A/N:** Full disclaimer in the first part. But I'd like to point out that the various people in this section are not based on real people and the church is not based on a real one either.

* * *

**Chapter Three: Neutiquam erro**

Some time that night, each of the team managed to snatch a few hours sleep on the sofas around the office. It was uncomfortable, but essential that they have the facts of the cases in their heads before the real investigative work began for them. It looked like becoming an intriguing case; most of the victims had little in common with one another apart from their appearance and the manner of their death. Though Catherine and Sara were investigating three of the women's connection with a dating agency, there was nothing that seemed to connect all ten women together. Yet it was urgent that they find the killer quickly, as he had killed ten people in only eight months, and they all knew that serial killers rarely stop on their own, but must be stopped by law enforcement or accident before their murderous sprees will end.  
  
At 9am Grissom called the team together to report on what they knew and what they had discovered about the case.  
  
"The latest victim - Rachel Melton - was killed in the same way as the other bodies. I can't believe that in all these deaths the killer has left almost no clue as to who he is! Nick, Warrick, what did you find from the trace analysis?"  
  
"Copper sulphate and nitrogen-enriched soil, again," said Warrick, "but nothing else, and nothing from the sleeping bag. At least he's stopped washing the bodies though, maybe he'll get careless if he thinks the police can do nothing to stop him?"  
  
Sara burst out, "We have to catch him before he kills again - we can't just wait for him to make a mistake! Ten people have already died!"  
  
"Maybe we will," Grissom said calmly, "what did you discover about this dating agency?"  
  
"Three of the women; Tessa Cardy, Heather Farn and Bridget Light, who were the third, fifth and ninth victims respectively, were all members of a dating agency called 'Divorcees Unite'. They put on events, dances and meetings for divorced people around the country. Those three women had all travelled to London for a big event they put on, and met one another briefly there. Though not for very long - the point of those events being to introduce women to men, they did not speak to one another for very long." Catherine continued, "Perhaps the killer was at that event, and met them there - though that doesn't explain how he met the other women. He could also have met them while travelling - all three travelled into London by train, although not to the same station."  
  
"Does the dating agency keep a record of which woman met which man at their events?"  
  
"They said I would have to go and speak to their manager to find out that information. I was thinking of going today. The agency might also be able to give us some more information about these women."  
  
"That's a good idea. I think we should have a look at where the bodies were found before we do anything else. After that, if you go to speak to the dating agency, Catherine, then Sara can look up the train connection. Warrick, Nick and I will go further into each victim's background, see whether there is any other connection between them, and also look into the religious connection."  
  
So the CSIs went to Charing Cross. When they arrived they found it to be on a busy street, with cars and buses running along it. At one end was Trafalgar Square, with its famous pillar with a statue of Lord Nelson at the top. Charing Cross station was a large, French-style building housing shops and the railway itself. It served both as an Underground station and a normal train station, serving the county of Kent, a popular choice for commuters. The station itself was busy, and the forecourt was normally full of taxis picking up travellers. In front of the station, behind iron railings stood the Charing Cross which, despite its name, looked nothing like a cross, instead being a pointed stone construction covered in intricate carvings, looking something like an ornate font, or else reminiscent of the Scott Memorial in Edinburgh. This was where the bodies had all been discovered, on the asphalt in front of the cross. As they approached Bob told them that the Charing Cross is the point from which all road distances from London in Britain are measured.   
  
"Seems a funny place to decide to put a body," Nick commented as they looked at the structure.   
  
"It could have a personal significance for the killer. He could perhaps be a cab driver, or travel here often. Normally, the 'whys' aren't that important in catching a killer, we just need the evidence to lead us to them. But with a serial killer, the 'whys' are what lead us to them, because the way he kills, and where show us a picture of who he is. We need to understand the significance of the mutilation, the necrophilia and the dumping-ground, then we may be able to find the man responsible," said Grissom.  
  
"What about the necrophilia? Didn't Jeffrey Dahmer and Dennis Nilsen kill in order to have sex with the corpses of their victims?" said Warrick, pulling a disgusted face.  
  
"They did, yes. Some people develop an attraction to the dead rather than the living, possibly because, as they were growing up, their sex drive became unnaturally associated with the dead. They often fantasise about death and have extreme trouble relating to live people. That is 'true' necrophilia, a love of death and of corpses. But there are other forms - there have been cases of soldiers sodomising their dead enemies as a form of humiliating the corpse. Our killer might be a necrophile, or he may be a sadist or control-freak. Some people rape, others defile bodies in order to humiliate them."  
  
"Maybe he hates women," said Sara, "I mean, he cut off their breasts and took out their hearts - maybe he gets rejected by women a lot, and decided to make them 'unwomanly' by removing their breasts, and then removed the heart to symbolise his control over their emotions for him?"  
  
"An interesting idea, Sara," Grissom looked thoughtful, "sexual sadism certainly seems to be part of his makeup, as he mutilated the women both while they were still alive and after they were dead. Most serial killers are in some sense sadists, and get sexual pleasure from either the act of killing or from torturing and then killing their victims. Sometimes, they also act with a warped sense of revenge - taking out their frustrations on others, perhaps believing them to be responsible or in need of punishment. That the women all look alike could be an indicator that he is punishing a woman who looks like them, perhaps his wife or mother. This is all conjecture, of course, but it is interesting, and we should keep it in mind when we're looking for links between the women."  
  
There wasn't much to see at Charing Cross, as the Scene of Crime Officers had removed all the evidence, and specialist cleaners had cleaned the area after they had left. Yet the CSIs felt that the site might, must hold some clue as to the identity of the killer, and why he felt driven to kill women. After they had looked at the site for a time, Catherine left to visit the dating agency, whose offices were not far from Charing Cross. Sara went to Blackfriars to visit the headquarters of the train company which Bridget Light had used to reach London. Meanwhile Nick, Warrick and Grissom returned with Bob to the office to research the victim's backgrounds.  
  
Catherine found 'Divorcees Unite' dating agency, with some difficulty, in a street heading away from a large statue of Edith Cavell. It was a tiny office, much smaller than the shops and office fronts around her, and based up a short flight of stairs from a communal stairwell. When she went inside, she discovered a short, blonde woman sitting at a desk, reading a newspaper.  
  
"Good morning, I am with the Metropolitan Police investigating a case. May I speak to the owner of this agency?"  
  
The woman looked a little worried, and rang through to her boss. There seemed to be only the two women in the office, for the owner herself appeared shortly afterwards. A glamorous woman of Afro-Caribbean origin appeared from an inner office, introduced herself as Fran Commons, and asked Catherine to come inside.   
  
"Good morning, Ms...?"  
  
"Willows. I'm with the Metropolitan Police and we're investigating a serial killer. Three of his victims were members of your agency and attended an event of some kind in London in January, and I was hoping you would have records of both the women and any men they may have met through your agency or at that event. Their names were Tessa Cardy, Heather Farn and Bridget Light."  
  
The woman looked flustered and started to rifle through some filing cabinets. She had a rather elderly computer on her desk, but it did not look much used, and apparently was not used to store files on her clients. Eventually she found the records she was looking for, and handed the brown folders to Catherine. Each was laid out with the vital statistics of each woman, a photograph, and a personal statement saying what the woman's hobbies and interests were, and also what each woman was looking for in a man.   
  
"I also have some records of the men each of these clients found through our agency, I'm afraid there are rather a lot of them. And a record from our 'Experience Counts!' event. We organised it as a 'blind Cupid' party, where each person took a number, and if someone liked another person, they wrote down their number on a pad of paper. One of our employees would then notify the person that they had an admirer, and, well, it went from there really. Ms Cardy's number was 009, Ms Farn's was 249 and Ms Light's was 643."  
  
"Thank you very much, Ms Commons. Do you have the records of the men who 'admired' these women? Can I take all of these away with me?" Receiving assent, Catherine went on, "were you at this event?"  
  
"Yes, as this was in London, I attended, naturally."  
  
"Did you notice anything suspicious about any of the men who were there?"  
  
"Oh no. 'Divorcees Unite' is a _select_ agency, we wouldn't take on anyone with 'alternative' tastes, of course not."  
  
"I'm not thinking of S&M fans, Ms Commons. Was there anyone taking an unnatural interest in these women? Or who has a very bad track record with the women on your books? Or was excessively religious? Perhaps you had complaints that someone gave people chills? Or even had a bad feeling about yourself?"  
  
"Ms Willows, I really cannot think of anyone like _that_," the woman seemed extremely shocked at the idea, "we wouldn't allow someone like _that_ to enter our agency. We've had very few complaints about men here, and the men who caused them were immediately removed from our books. In any case, none of the men who were interested in the women you are talking about ever received a complaint."  
  
"You can't think of anything?"  
  
"No, I'm sorry. Ms Willows, we are a respectable dating agency. I really cannot imagine why anyone would want to kill these three ladies, but I'm sure it had nothing to do with us."  
  
Seeing that the woman was distressed, Catherine said goodbye and took the files back to the office to look through them with leisure.  
  
Sara took a taxi to Blackfriars, with a cab driver who talked endlessly about pollution and the congestion charge (to her bemusement), and found herself at the offices of Bridget Light's train company. It was a huge office block, for an important commuter network of trains. Many thousands of people commuted into London using that network every day. Sara showed her identification at the desk and was taken to see a PR manager.   
  
"How can I help you, Ms Sidle?"  
  
"I'm sure you've heard of the serial killer targeting women and dumping their bodies in London? I'm working with the Metropolitan Police on the case, and one of the women used your train service to come into London. She paid by credit card, and we've discovered that she bought a £7.50 train card every few months. She lived in St Albans, could you tell me where that ticket would have taken her?"  
  
"Of course. The £7.50 ticket is our cheap return ticket from St Albans into London. It can be used anytime after the morning rush hour - that's from about 8-9am. If she used it, it would take her into either Kings Cross, Farringdon, Moorgate or the Barbican stations. If you have one of her tickets with you, I can find out where she left."  
  
Sara handed over a ticket that the Met had obtained from the Bridget Light's home, and she and the PR man went to another part of the building, where he ran the ticket through a machine.  
  
"With this ticket, she left St Albans at 10am and arrived at the Barbican station in London at half-past the hour. The Barbican is a station in the City of London - that's the business district, but it is on the most popular Underground line - the Circle line. The Barbican is a complex of offices and housing, and also has a theatre, library and museum which is very popular."  
  
Sara got directions to reach the Barbican station from the representative of the train company, and headed there on the Underground. As it was by now mid-morning, the train was not crowded, though there were several evidently mentally disturbed people talking to invisible people in her carriage, from which Sara edged away. It had been very good for the CSIs egos to be called in by the London police, even though they had all been rushed off their feet since they had accepted the Commissioner's request. She hated this part of a case, when it seemed like they rushed up a thousand blind alleys, hoping each time that they were on the right track. Still, each one was possible, and it could be that their killer hung around train stations, seeing and then stalking his victims. Each of the women had at some time or another been to London, so it was a possibility. Sara wasn't sure that they had all been to the Barbican station, but it could be that the murderer was going around each train terminus at a time, picking up women from outside London and then trailing them home in order to satisfy his depraved lusts with them. She sighed, Grissom was so confident that they would catch the killer, but she wasn't so sure. If the Met hadn't found him, after ten murders, what hope did the CSIs have? It was true that fresh eyes on a case often helped - she had found that out some time ago, when fresh eyes helped to solve a rape/murder case and set free an innocent man who had been implicated. That was what she loved about Grissom, he was so _certain_ that the evidence and their skills would lead them to the killer, and it was that certainty that had led to so many solved cases. She just wished he was more decisive when it came to relationships - she had never been sure whether he was attracted to her or not. He seemed to treat her differently than he did Catherine, but he either ignored or missed her signals to him, so perhaps he wasn't interested in her in that way. She just didn't know, and it had cost her a great deal of sleep wondering whether she was putting out the right signals, wondering whether he really did see her as anything more than just a colleague. She had even tried to approach him about it on a few occasions, only to have him look bemused, or stunned, and not respond. A distance had grown between them lately, and she couldn't help but wonder whether that was his way of trying to tell her to back off. The trouble was that he wasn't good with people, and neither was she, and for all her investigative powers she couldn't tell what his feelings for her were. Maybe some day she would figure it out, but right now it was all just confusing.  
  
The tube ground into the station, and Sara got off. Following the signs she made her way out into the fresh (er) air. Her tube ticket got eaten by the machine, and Sara made her way to try to find a station employee to ask questions to. But there was no one in sight, and the ticket booth was closed. She went outside the station for a moment, and saw that there was a very busy road in front of the entrance, and large, ugly reddish buildings and walkways spanning the street. A sign pointing upward led onto the walkways, where a yellow line was painted showing the way to the Barbican centre. After walking for a little way, and finding yet more red brick and blocks of apartments, she returned to the station, still looking for someone official to talk to.  
  
By sheer good luck she spotted a man in a uniform, who turned out to be a station attendant. She pulled a photograph of Bridget Light's face from her bag.  
  
"Do you recognise this woman?"  
  
"That's that woman who was murdered, isn't it? No, I can't say I do recognise her."  
  
"She used to travel into London via this station. Are you sure you don't recognise her?"  
  
"Look, miss, we get a lot of people travelling to this station. The City is a major employer in London. Plus, I don't work on the platform, we're not paid to stand and chat with people, we mostly just deal with trains and train drivers. Not customers. Sometimes I dispense tickets at the booth but I don't remember faces and if your woman was travelling in here by train then I wouldn't be giving her a ticket, would I?"  
  
"Well, then, have you ever noticed anyone suspicious lingering on the platform or out here? Anyone acting suspiciously around the women who travel to and from here?"  
  
"Everyone around here is suspicious. What with the nutcases who talk to people who aren't there, the homeless who come in and stink up the platform, the drunken city boys, the pickpockets, muggers, and rapists, how am I to tell who is strange and who isn't? There are any number of them, and the motto of London is pretty much, 'don't look and nothing will happen to you'. No one remembers the faces of the mad, the poor, the suspicious, because if you look at them you might get knifed or something, so we ignore them. Only people I ever stop are the homeless sleeping on the benches, and the beggars in the station itself. Anyone else, that's the British Transport Police's problem, not mine."  
  
With that, the man rushed off, disappearing behind a blue door. But he had given Sara a slight lead, and she decided to visit the Transport police rather than seeking out the other stations the women had used. She caught a cab to their headquarters in Whitfield Street. Entering their offices and giving her name to the receptionist, she was shown into a meeting room, and met with one of their officers.  
  
"Ms Sidle? I'm Sergeant Jones. I understand you're working with the Met on the serial killer case?"  
  
"Yes, I am. Three of his victims travelled into London to attend a singles' event, and all of the women had travelled into London at some point or other. We think that the killer may perhaps be picking women from railway stations, and following them to their homes before abducting them. The London underground referred me to you. Can I ask what it is the Transport Police do?"  
  
"We've had an existence independent to the normal police since almost the beginnings of the police service. Criminals use the railways to cross the boundaries of the different police forces and so we are able to cross those boundaries without infringing on the remit of our colleagues. We deal with railway security - since the Troubles, that has meant patrolling for suspicious packages, in case of bombing, as well as dealing with petty theft, and most of the crimes you can imagine."  
  
"Would any of your officers know if there were any suspicious men hanging around stations in London, stalking or following women?"  
  
"Where an officer sees something of concern - such as a man acting suspiciously at a station, they will log it. Until he commits a crime, he could not be apprehended but naturally suspicious characters are noted and, where appropriate, approached by our officers or members of the public who report it. What stations had you in mind?"  
  
"Well, the major termini of the landline trains, because all of the victims came from outside London, and especially the Barbican, Kings Cross, and Euston station, which is where the three women we know arrived in London for the same event travelled to."  
  
"I don't have the information immediately available, but if you're based in New Scotland Yard I can have it faxed to you? I'll get as much as I can as quickly as possible - we're as keen as everyone in the country to catch this man."  
  
Sara thanked the officer, and he promised to fax the information she wanted to her. She ventured to use the tube to go back to the Yard, though she got mildly lost on the way back.  
  
Meanwhile, Nick, Warrick and Grissom were investigating the backgrounds of the victims. This involved phoning the families of the deceased - a job none of them liked, but which Grissom took upon himself as the head CSI. He rang each family and asked them for their impressions of their loved one, what their character was like, and details of past relationships. None of them had had a particularly interesting life, their '5 minutes of fame' had unfortunately come with their death, and only because that death was one of many, and because it was unpleasant. None of them could possibly have brought on their own death, none had had unpleasant characters, none had been in trouble with the police. All were innocents snatched away from their lives by the whim of a murderer, no more. The Metropolitan Police sergeant, Bob, helped Grissom by ferrying information about the women's backgrounds, their hobbies and interests to the other CSIs so that they could continue the research. All of them found themselves increasingly oppressed by just how mundane the lives of the women had been - they were not interesting, not evil, not deserving, it seemed they were simply random women caught up in a dreadful event. The thrill of working out theories that they had experienced earlier at Charing Cross had disappated, and all they were left with was the checking and rechecking of detail, searching and searching for a link to tie the women together.   
  
Nick worked on the religious angle. Several of the women had been churchgoers, and the first victim, Jane Evans, had been a devout Anglican. Finding out the name of her local church from Grissom, Nick checked out the place on the internet, and rang the Church House in London to speak with someone about the church. Apparently there had been no controversies, no suspicious events, it was a perfectly ordinary city church with an ageing, declining population of worshippers. He found out the name and number of the Vicar of the church, and rang him, hoping that he could provide some information.  
  
"Reverend, I'm phoning from the Metropolitan Police in London. We're investigating the death of Jane Evans, who was a parishioner of yours," Nick listened as the Vicar murmured how sorry he had been to hear of her death, "we think it is possible that her murderer had some sort of a religious fixation. Was Ms Evans very devout herself?"  
  
"N-no, not noticeably so. If you mean, did she dance about saying 'praise be' all the time, we don't really go in for that sort of thing in the Church of England. At least not in a 'broad' church like this. She came to the services, she sang in the choir, she joined in our parties and jumble sales and the like, and she seemed faithful, but not excessively so."  
  
"Did she ever have any trouble with the church? A boyfriend within it? Or maybe some trouble with a male parishioner?"  
  
"Um...I can't really think of anything. Oh, I did once see her having an argument with our choir master, but they both said it was nothing important when I offered to mediate between them."  
  
"Could you give me your choir master's name?"  
  
"Really, I find it hard to believe he could have done anything to Jane...but I know you have to check everything. His name is Bill Toms. He's a good man, been working with the church for many years now, and we've never had a complaint against him."  
  
"Are there any parishioners you _have _received complaints about?"  
  
"Only when we had a group of youngsters staying with us on an exchange from an inner-city church. Some of them drank rather a lot and made a lot of noise, and swore at the parishioners. They were quite shocked by that."  
  
"Can you tell me the name of the church they came from?"  
  
"Oh yes, it was St Saviour's in London. Near the Strand."  
  
Nick thanked the vicar, and rang off. This looked like a real lead. He used the computer to check up on Bill Toms, but the man did not seem to have a criminal record. Then he rang him.  
  
"Mr Bill Toms? This is Nick Stokes from the Metropolitan Police here. I'd like to ask you a few questions about your relationship with Jane Evans."  
  
"Police? I didn't do anything! I heard on the news she'd been killed, but I swear I had nothing to do with it!"  
  
"Can you just tell me, sir, what the argument was between yourself and Ms Evans?"  
  
"It was nothing, really! Just a little disagreement, you know. She didn't like the way I was...running the choir. That's it, really."  
  
Nick noted the hesitation the man had made, and said, "is that really the truth, sir? You realise a very serious offence was committed against Ms Evans? She was murdered."  
  
"Oh God...look, please, I don't...I was taking money from the collection plate, alright? Jane caught me taking some of the packets out of the plate, and we argued about it. It's a perk, ok? But that's it, we just argued a little bit, she told me not to do it again, and that's all! I certainly wouldn't murder her over it - it was only spare change!"  
  
"Where were you on the 28th November last year?"  
  
"I was on holiday with my wife and kids. We went to Brighton. A bit of a rest before the Advent season, you know. You can check up on it, I never did anything to her, I swear!"  
  
It looked like Toms was ruled out, but Nick checked out his story anyway. Finding out that he was in Brighton when he said he was, Nick decided to check out the church the vicar had mentioned. He told the others where he was going, and then headed off to walk to the church.  
  
Meanwhile Warrick was working on a lead Grissom had got, that the seventh victim, Catherine Kilpatrick, had had a violent ex-boyfriend, whom she had fled from to a women's refuge. Searching the police records, Warrick discovered that his name was Andrew McFarlane and he had moved to London following his conviction for assault. Warrick decided to go and see him to discover whether he might have something to do with the case.  
  
Grissom sat alone in the office, endlessly ringing the family and friends of the deceased. Wandering through to the main room with a cup of coffee, he looked sadly at the photographs of the women whose lives had been cut short by the monster who was still at large. All of them were pretty women, all of them had full lives ahead of them. It was dreadful that they had lost their lives to a depraved maniac for no real reason. Looking closely at the line, Grissom's heart caught in his throat for an instant. He could think of another tall brunette who fitted the profile of the women the killer liked, Sara. Though he might not, could not admit publicly to his attraction, love and respect for Sara, it caught at his heart to see that the killer liked women like her. Though he knew it was irrational, he found himself fearing for her, hunting a man who hunted women like her. Looking at the women, he swore that no more would be among their number - and that he would never see Sara's face on that glass screen.

* * *

You do not die for being bad,  
You die for being available.  
-_Ian Rankin_

* * *


End file.
